Fair Game
by Varda's Servant
Summary: (::COMPLETE::) A CSI's life is on the line when an old case of Grissom's comes back unexpectedly.
1. Part 1

"Fair Game"  
  
Sunday – 10:03 p.m.  
  
"It's not your fault, Gil."  
  
"It feels like my fault. I shouldn't have pushed him to - "  
  
"To what? Take his vacation days? To rest? He needed a rest and you know it. He would've collapsed eventually working the way he was. We all had more down time than him, what with Vincent sick and all."  
  
Grissom sighed and sat back, his eyes fixed on the still form in front of him. Grief swept over him. The doctors prognosis was bad. Really bad.  
  
"They said... They said he won't survive til morning."  
  
Catherine looked away, unable to comfort the man in front of her. In truth, she didn't know how to comfort herself. She wasn't aware she was crying until the first tear had journeyed down her face and dripped onto her hands. She looked up as the door opened.  
  
"Grissom, Catherine. I, I came as soon as I..." Nick trailed off as he stood awkwardly in the doorway. "He's not going to make it, is he." His voice broke and he moved his gaze to the painfully still and pale form on the cot in the middle of the room.  
  
"No, Nicky, he's... he's going to... The doctors said - "  
  
"They said he won't live to see the morning." Grissom's voice was rough with suppressed tears, though they sparkled in his eyes. Nick only nodded, helplessly, like he had no idea how he had reached this point. Like he had forgotten the past week, like he was lost in a maze that he didn't understand. And maybe he was. Weren't they all?  
  
Conversation stopped as they all ran out of things to say. What did you say, when you were standing deathwatch over someone you knew and cared about? What could you say?  
  
"His parents are coming, but they don't think they'll be able to get here before five a.m."  
  
None of them spoke the words aloud. They were all thinking it though.  
  
It's up to us then.  
  
The three of them sat, listening to the slow, laboured beeping that echoed through the room. Wondering why it had come to this.  
  
Previous Saturday – 6:21 p.m.  
  
"You should take some time off."  
  
"You need me here."  
  
"We can get a replacement. Besides, Vincent is coming back in two days. We can manage until then."  
  
"Not with the amount that's coming in."  
  
"You're going to lose the days if you don't use them soon."  
  
"When there's less stuff to process."  
  
"Greg." The sternness of Grissom's voice made him turn. "You haven't had a day off in... well, I can't remember how long, which means it's high time you had one. Or seven."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You've been pulling doubles for the past ten days. You've been sleeping in the break room. Even Sara has had more time off than you."  
  
Greg reluctantly grinned. "Well, that's when you know it's really bad, right?"  
  
Grissom smiled back. "Yeah. We can handle the load without you for a week. No big deal. But you need a rest."  
  
Greg sighed, but to be honest, Grissom was right. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, almost as if he'd been punched in the face a couple times. He was pale, and haggard, and had even given up on his rock music. When asked why, he had said he just preferred the quiet. But in truth, it gave him headaches.  
  
"Alright." He reluctantly agreed, but was secretly relieved. He would have felt terrible taking time off when they needed him, but as long as it was Grissom pushing him to, he felt better about it.  
  
"I've already arranged for someone to come in tomorrow, so you can have a week starting then."  
  
Greg laughed, rather ruefully. "You had this planned."  
  
"All of us noticed how bad you were looking and decided we could make do without you for a week." Greg raised his hands in supplication.  
  
"I bow to your wisdom, oh mighty night-shift supervisor."  
  
Grissom smiled and left Greg to finish up his work.

-------------

Tuesday – 3:17 p.m.  
  
"This arrived for you, Mr. Grissom."  
  
A secretary handed him a letter before heading off to deliver the rest of her charges. Grissom looked down at the letter for a moment before continuing on to his office. He tossed it onto a pile with some unfinished paperwork and sat down to fill out some efficiency forms and eat his lunch.  
  
He was juts finishing his turkey sandwich when his phone rang.  
  
"Grissom." He dotted the last i and sat back. There was no answer on the other end.  
  
"Hello?" He tried again, but again could only hear the sound of breathing. Not heavy, faint. He listened harder. Was that sobbing? Was there someone crying in the background?  
  
There was a knock on the door and he quickly waved Warrick to sit down. Warrick sat silently, slightly confused.  
  
"Who is this." Grissom's voice was hard now, and he breathed a sigh of relief when a voice finally answered him.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Grissom." It was a male voice, and the sobbing in the background could no longer be heard.  
  
"Who is this?" Grissom repeated.  
  
"An old friend."  
  
There was silence for a few more moments. Grissom covered the phone with his hand and whispered for Warrick to get Brass. "Phone trace." He returned to the phone as Warrick quickly left, returning minutes later with Brass, Archie and some equipment.  
  
Archie began to set up as the man began to speak again.  
  
"A trace won't work, Mr. Grissom."  
  
Deciding to be honest, hoping for information, Grissom nodded. "And why is that?"  
  
"If I told you, I'd have to kill... well, not you. But him. And I don't think you want him to die."  
  
"Who is he?" Grissom got a thumbs up from Archie, the machinery was in place. They were being recorded now.  
  
"Guess." The voice held a note of amusement now. He knew he was running the show.  
  
"Give me a hint." Grissom wasn't paying attention to the conversation, just trying to keep the man talking until Archie could, hopefully, get a location.  
  
His hopes crashed when Archie stood up straight and shook his head. They fell even further when he was given the clue.  
  
"He wears a lab coat, and he looks pretty tired."  
  
Grissom's heart froze. "I don't believe you."  
  
"Really?" The man chuckled lightly. "Then why do you sound so scared? The great Gil Grissom, actually scared. That should go down in the history books."  
  
"What do you want?" His voice was strong again, a note of steel had entered it, but doing little to help.  
  
"Revenge." The man snarled suddenly. "You stole more from me than you could ever comprehend. My family, my friends, my life. So, I'd advise you to watch out. I have nothing to lose anymore, and aren't they the most dangerous kind of men, Mr. Grissom? The ones with nothing to lose?"  
  
"Yes, they are." Grissom's voice was steady still, but inside he was battling himself. Part of him wanted to beg and cry for Greg's life, another was trying to figure out who this man could possibly be. Another part was completely sceptical, the scientist part, demanding hard evidence.  
  
Hope flared in him once more.  
  
"If it really is Greg, I want proof."  
  
"Ah, very good Mr. Grissom. I believe that you received an envelope earlier?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Open it."  
  
Grissom had forgotten about the others in the room, who were now listening to the recording with bated breath. They looked up when the saw Grissom rummaging around on his desk before victoriously pulling an envelope from the mess. He tore it open and bloody chunks of dyed brown hair fell out.  
  
"Is that proof enough?" The man sounded quite happy now, but Grissom wasn't quite willing to accept it yet.  
  
"No." Grissom sounded angrier now, but he was fighting tooth and nail against reality. "I want to speak to him."  
  
The man chuckled again. "Of course, but he's feeling a little out of sorts right now."  
  
Grissom's stomach clenched, and he waited, praying, as he heard some rustling, and then a faint cry of pain.  
  
"It's for you." The voice sounded vindictive as he gave the phone over. Grissom waited breathlessly for the answer. And his heart broke.  
  
"He- hello?" Greg's voice was slightly hoarse, rough, and he sounded exhausted beyond measure.  
  
"Greg?"  
  
"Grissom?" Now Greg began to sob, pain evident through his tears and the phone. "Grissom, please help me, oh god, please help me-"  
  
"That's enough brat." Another cry, and more faint sobbing before the man came back on the line.  
  
"Proof enough?" As if not expecting a reply, he continued. "I will kill him slowly, Grissom. And then I will go after everyone you care about. Your team, the lab techs, friends, everyone. But not you. You will know what I did as I tear away everyone and everything you care about.  
  
"Goodbye, Mr. Grissom."  
  
The line went dead.  
  
-------------  
  
Sunday – 11:31 p.m.  
  
The trio sat silently, awkwardly. Each contemplating their own thoughts and memories. The slow, steady beeping had become a monotonous rhythm, the only time marker that they needed.  
  
Nick sat, wishing that he'd had more time to get to know Greg. He'd only just known him, really known him, and now...  
  
Now, now was the problem. Now, they were in limbo, for even the doctors were not absolutely sure that Greg would die. When pressed, they had admitted, however reluctantly, that there was a slim, almost non-existent chance that he would pull through.  
  
Nick wasn't sure if he should cling to that and hope, or forget it and simply accept the inevitable.  
  
-------------  
  
Tuesday – 7:05 p.m.  
  
Grissom was sure the day couldn't get any worse. Not after that horrendous phone call. He had always prided himself on thinking ahead, being one step before any criminal mind. Granted, he worked in the aftermath of crimes, but he also ran the top shift in the top lab in the country. He wouldn't ever call himself an expert, but he was damn close.  
  
Which is why his lack of foresight galled him so much, and the consequences would haunt him for the rest of his life.  
  
"Gil, we've done everything we can for now. We have to wait for the evidence. You know that better than anyone."  
  
Grissom favoured Brass with an impassive glare. Brass only shook his head.  
  
"Fine. Call me if you have any genius ideas."  
  
Brass left the office and Grissom, who was searching for any suspects from old files, unimpressed with Grissom's behaviour, and not truly blaming him. After all, it wasn't every day some psycho came along and threatened everything and everyone you cared about.  
  
Feeling anger bubble up, Brass tried to calm himself down. He still felt protective of the lab personnel, even if he hadn't overseen them for years now. He had hand-picked Greg from all the applicants, so he was entitled to feel anger. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't angry. He was furious. And if it was the last thing he would ever do, he would find that lunatic and, well, best not go there.  
  
Not yet.  
  
Brass reached the reception area and stopped to talk to one of the women there, saying goodnight to Jacqui as she signed out.  
  
Pausing a few more minutes, he headed out to his car when he heard a soft cry and wet thud. Looking for the source of the sounds, he saw a dark figure sprint around the corner of the building. Following, Brass sped around the corner, only to find the figure had disappeared. Re-tracing his steps, he saw a dark shape on the ground in between two parked cars.  
  
Kneeling down, he saw it was Jacqui. Examining her, he felt for a pulse. Feeling a faint beat against his fingertips, he pulled out his radio and called for an ambulance. He checked further, finding a bloody dent on her skull.  
  
Swearing softly, Brass waited for help, wondering if it was the same lunatic who had Greg that did this.  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 12:49 p.m.  
  
Grissom stared at the pale figure, his guilt almost overwhelming him. Never, in all his career, had he felt so helpless. So utterly hopeless. Even if Greg did somehow, miraculously, pull through, he would never be the same. None of them would.  
  
The beeping droned on, hypnotizing Grissom. He thought about life, and what it would be like to go back to the lab, short of a DNA tech, a fingerprint specialist, a level three CSI.  
  
He couldn't truly picture the lab without them.  
  
-------------  
  
Wednesday – 12:24 p.m.  
  
"Nothing. There's nothing here!" Sara exploded out of her seat, pacing furiously around the table. She stopped, turned, and paced back, all the movements precise, exact.  
  
"We'll find him." Grissom tried to stay calm, but he was close to exploding himself. Two days since the call, that meant five days with that Lunatic. He'd sounded so broken over the phone, by now –  
  
Grissom cut off that line of thought. He had to concentrate. That he had managed to keep the case had been a small miracle, though Ecklie had offered assistance. Grissom just hoped Director Corvallo wouldn't pull him and his team from the case.  
  
Grissom sat back, watching Sara pace the room. Forward, stop, turn, forward, stop, turn, forward, stop, turn. Like a clock, her shoes clicked at even intervals. Finally, Grissom spoke up.  
  
"We will find him. There has to be something." Sara stopped, but only briefly.  
  
"There's nothing. No trace of this guy. We have no idea what case he's even from! All the recently paroled and released convicts are clean, so to speak, we couldn't trace him over the phone, and there is nothing, nothing here or anywhere else!"  
  
Grissom watched her pace for several more lengths before standing. "Let's go."  
  
"Where?" Sara stopped pacing –finally! – and followed Grissom out into the hall. He said nothing else to her until they reached his Tahoe in the parking lot.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked again, a note of insistence in her voice.  
  
"It's a secret." Grissom smiled, and though it was a little forced, and definitely not large, it was a smile nonetheless. Sara climbed into the car reluctantly. She glanced vaguely around, for the first time realizing how tired she actually was.  
  
Grissom pulled out of the lot and manoeuvred into traffic. It wasn't New York, but the traffic was still difficult this time of day. He was heading to a small diner he knew, a nice little place with decent food at decent prices.  
  
The ride was silent, Sara still ignorant of their destination and unwilling to broach conversation. They both felt awkward, unsettled, but Grissom was determined to give them both a break.  
  
He pulled up outside the diner and turned the car off. "We're here."  
  
Sara sat up, and then looked sceptically at Grissom. "A diner? Shouldn't we be working the case?"  
  
"We both need a break. By the time we're done, Warrick will be back, and we can start fresh with fresh eyes."  
  
Sara looked like she was going to argue for a brief moment, but then nodded and got out of the car. She knew she wasn't going to win this one, and she also knew Grissom was right.  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 1:56 a.m.  
  
Catherine contemplated the events that led to this specific present. She wondered if there was anything she could have possibly done to prevent this particular outcome. Looking back, she saw so many places that she could have acted, it seemed so obvious now.  
  
Not that it had been then.  
  
Then, they were muddling through, trying to figure out who. The why was easy, Doyle had said so himself, revenge. He wanted to visit upon Grissom the same agony he himself had been forced through, losing everything dear to him in a matter of days.  
  
He claimed to have been wrongly convicted, but no one would believe him now.  
  
Two counts of murder, though the toll could rise any minute now...  
  
Catherine looked at Greg. What was left of him. The cut on his cheek a stark brown in comparison with his too-pale skin. His arms bandaged, a cast on his right wrist.  
  
She knew he hated hospitals, especially after the explosion. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to take him away from this place. Away from the hurt and fear. He just couldn't catch a break, and Catherine felt somehow responsible for this latest trauma.  
  
Her thoughts turned briefly to Lindsey, asleep downstairs. Her motherly instinct was to go to her, to hold her, to tell her everything was going to be alright, even though Catherine herself wasn't so sure of that.  
  
Common sense held her where she was. Lindsey was asleep, and Lindsey was alive. If she left, Greg might die. She could never forgive herself for that.  
  
So she stayed, listening to that beep... beep... beep... Wondering whether it would stop, when it would stop.  
  
-------------  
  
Wednesday – 1:07 p.m.  
  
"What happened?" Grissom and Sara stared at the carnage around them. It was hard to accept. Brass looked around with vengeful eyes.  
  
"Car bomb." Brass' voice was flat, belying the emotion in his eyes. "Warrick's. Went off as he was heading into the building. Killed a receptionist as she was leaving for lunch. Warrick's in hospital, severe burns and some deep lacerations. Not critical, but he'll be there for a while."  
  
Sara stood, feeling slightly numb. She watched as dayshift searched through the debris. It must have been one hell of a bomb, she thought. It had taken out the cars on either side of it, as well as blowing out the windows in the building directly in front.  
  
She turned to see Brass and Grissom treading carefully through the piles of metal that had already been sorted over to Ecklie. She noticed he didn't look happy, and while at one time that would have given her pleasure, at the moment, she was too tired and frustrated.  
  
Never, in all her time as a CSI, had a case been so tiring, nor had one ever hit this close to home. Not that you could get much closer than some vengeful criminal out for blood.  
  
A large black bag being wheeled away caught her attention. The receptionist, a completely innocent bystander, now dead. Because of one man's selfishness.  
  
Anger suddenly swept through Sara, wiping away the numbness and leaving her fuming. What right had he to do this? To kidnap and torture Greg, to almost kill Jacqui and Warrick, to murder a young woman who wasn't even involved in putting away criminals?  
  
Leaving the scene, Sara strode into the building. She was going to find out who he was, even if it meant she was the next target. She would find out who was doing this to her family, and she would get him.  
  
He may have started out innocent, but clean he was far from now.  
  
She strode into one of the computer labs, switching on the monitor and accessing all the files on Grissom's cases since he started as a green intern fresh from college.  
  
That Lunatic wasn't going to get away from this in one piece.  
  
-------------  
  
Wednesday – 9:32 p.m.  
  
Nick unlocked his apartment door. He felt drained completely, his mind fuzzy mush inside his skull. He dropped his keys on the counter next to the phone and headed towards his couch, intent on collapsing like a sack of potatoes.  
  
The phone rang.  
  
Nick groaned as he was just about to relax. He heaved himself up again and picked up the phone, to tired to even be annoyed.  
  
"Hello?" There was no answer from the other end of the line, only a heavy silence. "Hello?"  
  
"Hello Nicholas Stokes."  
  
"Who is this?" Nick didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded amused somehow.  
  
"I'm hurt. After the lovely show I've been putting on, you don't recognize me?"  
  
A chill settled in the pit of Nick's stomach. He turned around, looking out his windows for any sign of a watcher. The voice on the end of the phone laughed.  
  
"I'm sure you're waiting for me to threaten you, yes?"  
  
"That would seem your style." Nick continued looking around, his mind adrenaline alert, tiredness forgotten.  
  
"Well, then you're going to be disappointed. Truly. I'm not calling to threaten anyone. I'm calling to do. Actions speak louder than words, yes?"  
  
Before Nick could reply, another voice was heard in the background. And it wasn't the one Nick had expected to hear, this one was far worse.  
  
"Let me go!" The high-pitched girl's voice cried out again, and then screeched. A male voice laughed, the cold one Nick had talked to, before saying something that Nick couldn't make out. A rustling noise followed.  
  
"Hello?" Lindsey's voice was timid, and soft. Nick swallowed hard.  
  
"Lindsey?"  
  
"Nicky?"  
  
"Lindsey, are you okay? Where are you? Has he hurt you?"  
  
"Nicky, I want to go home. I want to see mommy."  
  
"I know, I know. But right now, I need you to be strong for me. Can you tell me where you are?"  
  
"It's big. And cold."  
  
"Anything else? Street signs or buildings or anything? Can you see out a window?"  
  
"No."  
  
"How are you? Has he – Has he touched you? Hurt you?"  
  
"No, but he said he would if I wasn't good."  
  
Nick let out his breath, before focusing again on the phone. "Then do what he tells you, okay honey?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
There came another rustling noise then, and the cold voice was back. "You see, she's alright. I haven't touched her, I'm not like that. Children are our most precious resource, and unless given no other choice, I would never harm one. Keep that in mind, Mr. Stokes."  
  
The click of the phone disconnecting was dim in Nick's mind. There was only one thought running through his head.  
  
The Lunatic has Lindsey. It took several minutes for his brain to start processing at the usual speed, and then another thought overtook the first.  
  
Catherine.  
  
-------------  
  
Greg lay in the dark, alone. He hurt, everywhere.  
  
He contemplated vaguely life, the universe and everything. He loved Douglas Adams books, which none of his colleagues would have been surprised at. Adams was a nut like him, crazy – in a good way.  
  
Greg rolled over onto his other side, via his stomach. His back hurt too much, and though he had no idea what his captor had done, he hadn't been given enough drugs to completely block the pain.  
  
He heard footsteps echo down the metal stairs. He thought he was in some sort of warehouse, but since he was still out of it, he wasn't sure.  
  
"Hello, little one."  
  
Greg shuddered away from the hands reaching for him, and all he got for his troubles was a kick to his ribs.  
  
Moaning at the shooting pain in his side, Greg didn't resist as the man pulled him up and forced him onto a chair. There was a camera set up, and the man was wearing plain black clothes and a balaclava. He paused in front of Greg and grinned at him briefly.  
  
Greg decided he didn't like that smile. Too many teeth.  
  
The man turned back to his work, finishing the camera setup, or whatever it was, stopping briefly and taking a deep breath. He began to speak...  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 4:06 a.m.  
  
"How is he?" Greg's parents gingerly crossed the room, as if trying not to wake their sleeping son. That he still was alive was a miracle in itself, Grissom doubted that Greg would be waking up any time soon, if ever.  
  
"He's... alive." Grissom wasn't quite sure what else to say, but in the silence of the room, that statement seemed wrong. But then, what was the right thing to say when your only son lay dying slowly because of a revenge bent madman?  
  
Catherine offered her seat to Greg's mother, Susan. She declined the seat, but when Catherine excused herself pleading a visit to Lindsey, Susan took the empty seat anyway.  
  
Greg's father, David, simply stood, gazing down on his son with a face full of regrets. "I never told him how much I loved him."  
  
His voice seemed broken, as if with the tragedy that had befallen Greg, David too had been broken. Under different circumstances, Grissom felt that he might have found this sort of bond interesting, but this was now, and one of his co-worker's lives was damaged beyond repair.  
  
A doctor came in, attempting to be unobtrusive, and failing spectacularly. He looked uncomfortable, and Grissom wondered how often he had to deal with grieving families. Not as often as Grissom, but maybe that made it worse.  
  
When they got to Grissom, at least they knew, beyond all doubt, that their loved one was dead. In a hospital that wasn't the case. There was always the hope, so the crushing of that fragile optimism must be ten times worse.  
  
When the doctor's brow wrinkled, it caught the attention of the room. They had all been told that there was no hope, that it was only a matter of time. There was nothing the doctors could do.  
  
The doctor noticed the attention he had inadvertently garnered and left as soon as he was able. Nick watched him move away down the hall and turned back to his friend.  
  
He sat just inside the door, watching Greg's parents. They had moved closer when the doctor had entered, displacing David from his spot over Greg. They stayed together, David behind his wife, one of his hands on her shoulder, one of her hands on his. A bond of touch.  
  
Nick felt the soreness from his own encounter with Doyle, and he suddenly wished it hurt more. They had thought Greg was on his holiday, instead he was being tortured by that sadistic monster.  
  
Nick excused himself quietly from the small group, pleading exhaustion. Grissom gave him a fish-eyed stare which Nick ducked as well as he could. Yes, he felt guilty for leaving, but he wasn't sure he could take the guilt when the monitor finally became monotone.  
  
Survivors guilt. That's what it was called. Nick knew that. But it didn't help ease the pain.  
  
He headed down the hall to the elevator. He could at least visit Warrick before leaving. He pressed the button and leaned against the wall.  
  
He was the only one in the elevator, which he was thankful for. He wasn't sure if he could be with people right now, and Nick definitely preferred to use what little energy and patience he had left with Warrick.  
  
The bell dinged, and the doors slid open. Heading down the hall, Nick almost hoped that his friend wasn't awake. Then he wouldn't have to answer painful questions about Greg's condition.  
  
Knocking on the door, Nick slipped inside.  
  
-------------  
  
Thursday – 10:22 a.m.  
  
Catherine and Sara sat in the breakroom, the former in tears, the latter trying to comfort her. Grissom, Ecklie and Brass stood outside, talking quietly. Nick was down the hall, talking to Archie and Vincent.  
  
The whole lab was now under lockdown. No one went in or out without a police escort, it was deemed to dangerous for all concerned.  
  
The Lunatic, now a universal nickname, had not called the lab back since Tuesday. Whenever he made contact, it was through a different phone. And the one time that they had lucked out and managed a trace, the call had been too short to complete it.  
  
Grissom doubted that it would have led to anything viable had the call even been long enough.  
  
So far, they had four leads, and that was only a fifth or so through Grissom's long career. Digging through those old files, some sent from other labs where Grissom had worked, he realized just how many criminals he must have pissed off.  
  
Most, if not all, claimed to be innocent, so that particular fact was of no help at all. That Grissom didn't even know what time-frame he was looking for was even less helpful.  
  
At least he wasn't sorting through the raw data himself. Instead, three people at any one time were sorting through copious amounts of files, and the only ones that got back to him were the ones that they deemed fit the criteria.  
  
Which were hundreds.  
  
When Ecklie and Brass left to arrange further protection or aides, Grissom slipped quietly into the breakroom, sitting awkwardly next to Catherine. Sara held her against her shoulder, murmuring soft words which held no comfort at all.  
  
"I thought she was safe. I never thought that he'd... It's all my fault."  
  
Grissom had never seen Catherine so broken before, not even during that unpleasant incident with her ex-husband. Well, incident wasn't the right word. The man had been murdered after all.  
  
Grissom supposed that if he didn't work with death everyday, and if he had liked Eddie more, the case would have had more of an impact. He did have feelings, despite what some people thought, he was just really good at repressing them.  
  
He was brought back to the present by Sara's voice. She and Catherine were looking at him, Catherine steadfastly trying to compose herself, Sara's eyebrows raised in question.  
  
"I was just talking to Brass," he began, gently; "we decided to keep almost everyone here. At least, until this situation is resolved. We don't have the manpower to protect everyone if they all went home, so it will be easier if we all stay here. Plus, everyone is feeling particularly motivated right now, so sending them home would present a problem in and of itself."  
  
He paused then, unsure of how Catherine would take his next piece.  
  
"But I want you to go home. Both of you." He continued on above their protests. "I'm sending Nick home as well, and you will all have police protection, so don't worry on that account. I know this won't help, Catherine, but you need the rest."  
  
Before Catherine could voice a firm denial, Sara spoke up. "He's right, you know. We all need rest, we've been stressed out longer than almost anyone else in the lab."  
  
Catherine heaved a sigh. "Well, that's when you know you should take time off. When Sara is the one encouraging it." She smiled wryly.  
  
Grissom suppressed a pang at Catherine's almost identical words to Greg's right before he left. Shoving down the pain, he smiled back. They were small smiles, true, but they were smiles all the same.  
  
As the pair of women left, Grissom marvelled at how easy it had been to convince them. He never would have thought that Catherine would have been willing to go home, not with Lindsey still missing, but he put it down to the fact that the Lunatic had guaranteed the girl's safety as long as his hand wasn't pushed.  
  
That he had allowed mother and daughter a talk didn't hurt either, and Lindsey's own calm re-assurances had certainly had a positive effect on her mother. Lindsey's cheerfulness, and the Lunatic's own fondness, had grated somewhat on Grissom's nerves, but he had taken it as a hopeful sign. The man wasn't so far gone as to terrify children. Not yet, at least.  
  
Standing and stretching wearily, he checked the clock. He hadn't got much sleep the previous night, and he doubted he'd get much again tonight. Or any, until this whole situation was over.  
  
Smiling wryly, he wandered over to the counter. That was what coffee was for.  
  
-------------  
  
I was hoping to get this up in one piece, but this section is fifteen pages, so I decided to make it two. Also, some of you may have noticed how on the beggining of one of the parts, there is no time. That's because the events are concurrent, there is no time difference. So please dont send me messages about how i forgot a bit, i didn't. Thank you.  
  
Please R&R, I'm sick, and its always nice to read people comments. I hope you enjoyed this, and I hope you like the next part as well! 


	2. Part 2

A/N: I'm sorry this came out so late, between being sick and work, I had no time to write this week. But it's here now. So enjoy. Also, thank you for all your wonderful reviews, and keep 'em coming!  
  
"Fair Game" 2/2  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 6:24 a.m.  
  
There was no conversation in the room. There was no need or desire for it. All were left to contemplate, as they had the long night, on the events that led to this.  
  
The beeping had sped up slightly, giving a spark of hope to an otherwise bleak room. The doctor had not mentioned anything, and Grissom thought that it was perhaps because Greg's chances had not improved as they would all assume, his body was simply making a last-ditch effort and he was going to die in an hour.  
  
He didn't know, but he began to wish an end to this. How long had he been sitting here, watching over the living corpse of a friend and colleague? How long before that corpse was no longer living?  
  
Glancing briefly at Greg's parents, he wished for a brief moment that they would leave. He could not ask them to, of course, Greg was their only child, but the strain seemed to be killing them.  
  
Mrs. Sanders looked so pale as to be translucent. Grissom fancied he could see every one of her veins, especially in her hands. Hands clutching her gloves with a fierceness that one would not have thought possible from such a fragile looking woman.  
  
Mr. Sanders looked like he was about to cry. Or fall over. Grissom thought perhaps he should offer his seat to David, but decided against it. Likely the only way he would accept the seat is if Grissom left entirely, which he had no intention of doing.  
  
Greg had been, was, his responsibility, he wouldn't shirk it at this late stage, not when he'd failed so spectacularly in the first place.  
  
-------------  
  
Thursday – 4:57 p.m.  
  
He woke suddenly, alert in a moment. He glanced around quickly to see what had woken him, and relaxed back when he realized it was someone's coffee, the machine was beeping. He checked his watch, startled when he saw that he'd slept two hours. He'd thought that he wouldn't get any at all, but obviously he wasn't as troubled as he'd thought. Or his body had rebelled and knocked him out in protest.  
  
Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead for a moment, wishing it had all been a bad dream. But outside the glass enclosed space he could see many employees of the lab, for more than there should have been at any given time.  
  
Some were working, but most were sitting and talking. Some looked panicky, but most seemed calm, if worried or angry.  
  
He got up, getting himself a cup of the freshly made coffee. With a pang, he realized it was Greg's Hawaiian Blue that he had left behind with a smile, saying they'd need it.  
  
Greg hadn't known how right he'd been.  
  
Pouring himself a cup, Grissom left the breakroom in search of more clues, leads, anything, that had been picked up from the various incidents.  
  
Finding Ecklie, he found that dayshift had had no success in tracing anything with the bomb. All the parts had been generic, easy to buy, easy to find items, and with the hundreds bought by credit card, it was unlikely that they would find the Lunatic using them. And that wasn't even counting the cash purchases.  
  
There had been no clue to Lindsey's kidnapping, except for a single hair. Unfortunately, the hair was short a skin tag. So they weren't sure if it even belonged to their Lunatic. If it did, though, it was possible the man was a natural blonde.  
  
The attack on Jacqui yielded up even fewer clues. No footprints, no fibres, no nothing. Brass hadn't gotten a good look at their masked man in the dark, so even what few clues he might have offered if it had been light wouldn't have helped much.  
  
A man this clever would have found some way to disguise himself.  
  
-------------  
  
Greg sat and watched the man gather some items from the table nearby. He had learned to gauge when the man's plan was going well, and when it wasn't. If it wasn't, Greg would quickly hear about it. If it was, Greg didn't even see him for long periods of time.  
  
He looked around once more, trying to memorize his surroundings as best he could. He wasn't doing well; the world kept spinning and sliding away from him in a very rude manner. He would have told it off if he hadn't been gagged.  
  
The man gave Greg a last grin before striding to the door and exiting the warehouse, leaving Greg alone once more.  
  
Dizzily, he wondered if he should be worried. After all, a metal pipe and that video he had made couldn't bode well. Greg's cheek still burned from that knife, he imagined he could feel the razor edge slicing his skin open again and again. He was too disconnected from his body to feel further, which he decided was the only upside to his current situation.  
  
He shook his head when he imagined hearing a child's laughter again. He hated that noise. It, before anything else, made him realize he was losing his mind, and he didn't like that thought. What did he have, if not his mind?  
  
Wishing he could scream at the child to shut up, knowing that the drugs and gag prevented it, he sat in a distant misery, wanting nothing more than to go home.  
  
-------------  
  
Nick sat at home, the television on, trying to distract himself. He had attempted sleep, failing miserably. Now he sat, trying not to think of Greg or Lindsey, Warrick or Jacqui, or anyone at the lab.  
  
Images of death and destruction kept running through his head, his attempts so block them wholly unsuccessful. The lab explosion, Warrick's car, that phone call, then his mind ran on to hypothetical scenarios.  
  
He saw, again and again, Jacqui's attack, only she was dead now, lying broken on the pavement. He saw the explosion - this time, Warrick and that poor receptionist lying dead at his feet, debris raining down around them.  
  
He saw Greg, surprised and alone, taken unaware, dragged away, to have god only knew what depraved things done to him.  
  
Lindsey, frightened, screaming, or perhaps drugged, knocked out, being dragged away, held with a man who had a vengeful agenda, unpredictable, insane.  
  
Shaking his head, Nick got up, in search of some strong alcohol. He normally didn't drink beyond a beer or two, but right now, there was a definite need for something to numb his thoughts. Higher brain functions just were not wanted at the moment.  
  
"Hello Nick. I'm glad we finally get to meet in person."  
  
The cold voice sounded behind him, and Nick spun, reaching for his gun sitting on the counter. He didn't have time to reach it before something hard hit his head with a resounding crack, and then there was only darkness.  
  
-------------  
  
Thursday – 7:19 p.m.  
  
"Gil, there's been another attack."  
  
Four words that brought his world to a grinding halt. "Another?" His voice was cracked, breathless. "Who?"  
  
Brass looked equal parts furious, frustrated and pained. "Nicky. He got him in his own home."  
  
Grissom wondered if the Lunatic had seen anything about Crane and that incident, then he wondered if Nick would ever be able to go back to that house again. Grissom doubted it.  
  
Nick hadn't moved after Crane, much to the surprise of the team. He seemed alright, so no one questioned the decision. But after this, the second time...  
  
"How is he?"  
  
"He's at the hospital right now, He seems okay. They want to keep him overnight, but they said he'll be free to go tomorrow."  
  
Grissom nodded, relieved. "We can see him?"  
  
Brass shook his head. "They have him sedated right now, but he suffered some head trauma. They doubt he'll be able to remember much, if anything, of the attack."  
  
"Where was the officer detailed to him?" Grissom's voice sharpened slightly, but there wasn't much energy behind it.  
  
Brass shook his head slightly. "Right where he was supposed to be. Apparently, Nick had had the television on, and that was loud enough to mask the noise of the attack. Not his fault. He couldn't be everywhere at once. Nick had locked his doors, but we also found a spare key sitting on the counter. No fingerprints."  
  
"I'm not sure if that's good or bad news." Grissom sighed and sat down on one of the lounges. Brass followed suit, looking slightly uncomfortable.  
  
"Gil, there's something else." Grissom looked an enquiry at him, but Brass wasn't looking back. "A videotape was left next to Nick."  
  
"A tape. Do we know of what?"  
  
"No one's watched it yet, Archie's trying to clean it up, there was blood all over it." Seeing Grissom's look, Brass sighed. "We don't know whose, we took samples, DNA are running them right now."  
  
"We don't have a sample of Greg's." Grissom's mind was jumping right into the task at hand, siphoning off all his emotions. Sometimes he hated his job.  
  
"We have Nick's and – Lindsey's."  
  
"Where did we get Lindsey's?"  
  
Brass smiled slightly. "School stuff. Got it pulled from the hospital."  
  
Grissom nodded, then his head shot up. "Has everyone been brought back here?"  
  
Brass shook his head. Grissom frowned.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because we think he wants us all here, Gil. If we keep some of us spread out, we have a better chance of getting this guy. He'll slip up, Ecklie and his lot have already found a shoeprint in Nick's place, one not matching any of Nick's own." Brass looked carefully at Grissom. "Get some sleep, Gil. You're tired, and tired people make mistakes."  
  
Grissom knew that Brass was right, he knew it was his exhaustion speaking, but he still couldn't bring himself to go, to leave. It wasn't his safety he was worried about, the Lunatic had already made clear that it wasn't Grissom he wanted dead, it was everyone around him.  
  
He wanted Gil to sit by helpless as his world was torn down and smashed to pieces right in front of him. He wanted Gil to feel helpless, impotent. Grissom sighed.  
  
Well, the Lunatic was getting his wish.  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 6:51 a.m.  
  
"Hey. Awake at last. And here, I thought I'd get to eat your breakfast."  
  
Nick's smile was thin and strained, but there. Warrick lifted his hand to rub his eyes, changed his mind mid-air as memory hit, and instead settled for some rapid blinking.  
  
"Hey man. What's up?" Warrick's voice was a little hoarse, but he smiled and gingerly leaned higher against the blankets.  
  
"Well, lots. How much do you remember of Catherine's visit?" Nick looked carefully at his friend.  
  
"Um, well..." Warrick closed his eyes, struggling to re-collect anything from the previous few days. "The last thing I remember was that I had just returned from that trip to the Penitentiary. I was going into the building, I said hi to Sammy, and then, it all just sort of... fades out. I don't really remember..." His eyes shop open suddenly and he tried to sit up.  
  
"Sammy!" Warrick looked frantically at Nick's sorrowful face. He slumped back and sighed. "Damn. Did we at least get the basta- Greg!"  
  
For the second time that morning, Warrick tried to sit bolt upright and failed. Didn't the saying go 'It's the thought that counts.' anyway? Nick sat back and scrubbed at his face. The night had been far too long for this.  
  
They had all known the Warrick had been as high as a kite on the pain – and other – meds the doctors had given him, but that he'd forget everything after his own attack, well, that was difficult.  
  
"We got Greg back. And Lindsey. Um, everyone is basically where they were when you went down. Except the Lunatic, his name is James Doyle, is now behind bars, right where he belongs. And, well, Jacqui. She... She didn't make it." Nick decided to leave it to someone else, or himself when he'd rested some, to tell Warrick the whole story.  
  
Warrick nodded and relaxed, closing his eyes. A long sigh leaked slowly from him.  
  
"Damn. Some days I hate this job."  
  
Nick's inner voice silently agreed with Warrick's tired mutter.  
  
-------------  
  
Friday – 1:47 a.m.  
  
"...As you can see, he doesn't look so good, does he? And keep in mind who's in the other room, happily watching Agent Cody Banks and eating popcorn. As I told Mr. Stokes, I abhor the thought of harming a child, but a cornered animal does desperate things."  
  
The man stopped speaking, grinning silently at the camera. Grissom hoped that that was the end. His hope was crushed when the man disappeared briefly, leaving a woozy looking Greg center stage for about a minute, returning with a long, sharp kitchen knife and a large bottle of some unidentified liquid.  
  
He stepped behind the helpless lab tech, baring the knife once more for inspection by the camera, and by extension, those now held captive by the images recorded onto the tape.  
  
Setting the knife against Greg's cheek, he suddenly pulled back in a vicious stroke, neatly severing the gag tied in Greg's mouth and leaving a long, deep gash in his face.  
  
He then set the knife point first on Greg's shoulder, grinning again at the camera for long moments, then thrusting the knife deep in the screaming man's shoulder. Twisting once for good measure, the man pulled the knife from Greg and moved to the side.  
  
The audience waited breathlessly. The man, once more grinning devilishly at the camera, lay the knife along Greg's thigh. Without a pause this time, he stabbed deeply, pulling the knife clear without any fuss.  
  
Greg's cries were heart-rending to hear, and Grissom would not have been able to watch if he hadn't felt so guilty. Yes, he'd seen far more gruesome episodes in human history, recent and otherwise, but when it was someone you cared about, someone whom you saw every day, who you helped and depended on, it was so much worse.  
  
The man waited until Greg had stopped screaming and was merely whimpering his pain through his drug-haze before opening the bottle and dousing Greg in it.  
  
The tape cut on Greg's shrill cries.  
  
The room was silent for long moments, the occupants trying to assimilate what they'd seen. And heard.  
  
Grissom looked first to Archie, paper white and stiff. When he became aware of Grissom's gaze, he quietly excused himself. Looking next to Brass, Grissom saw some of his own emotions reflected in the other man's eyes. Hate, fury, frustration – guilt. The massive burden of Guilt. He turned away from his reflection, looking to the room's last occupant.  
  
Sara stared back, pale but composed. He saw no guilt in her eyes. He saw only the fury building up within her, fuelled by the frustration and hate.  
  
A silent agreement was passed between the three of them. The survivors so far, the ones who had the responsibility of protecting the others around them.  
  
They wouldn't fail again.  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 7:04 a.m.  
  
"But we did..." Grissom's voice was nearly inaudible, even to him, in the quiet room. Greg's parents still sat, lost in their thoughts. They hadn't moved in hours, and Grissom was sure that David had to have sore feet by now, but he felt it would be out of place to mention such a trivial thing.  
  
He was relieved that neither of them had seemed to hear his whisper, they didn't know about the tape, at least, not its contents, and he wanted to keep it that way. No parent should ever have to see their child die, but to see his last, horrible, days, that was too cruel to allow.  
  
The doctor quietly opened the door and looked around. Seeing the total lack of response, he stepped further into the room and cleared his throat. There was still nothing from David or Susan, though Grissom did look up.  
  
"Excuse me..." The doctor's tentative words brought the grieving couple from their reverie. Smiling thinly, the doctor nodded at them, looking uncomfortable. "This is your son, Gregory Sanders?"  
  
"Yes." Susan's voice was hoarse, and David only nodded.  
  
"Um, well, we have some news on his condition. He's doing much better than we expected, and his chances for survival have increased."  
  
To Grissom, those few words were a lifeline. Perhaps he hadn't failed so horribly after all. Perhaps he would live.  
  
To Susan and David, those words were life. They had something to cling to now, no matter how tenuous it truly was, it was something. It was Hope.  
  
"They haven't gone up much, we give him almost a one in ten chance of living the day, and less than that the night, but if he does, we give him a fifty/fifty chance of making it out the week." Looking at the two insanely hopeful faces before him, the doctor didn't wonder why he hated this part of his job the most. The parents didn't understand – or didn't care – just how small their son's chances were.  
  
The other man though, he looked like he had expected something of the sort. He probably was a doctor, or something of the sort, mused Greg's doctor. Nodding once more, he left the grief-filled room.  
  
He had other patients. Life did go on, after all.  
  
-------------  
  
Friday – 12:04 p.m.  
  
"Gil! Gil, I think we have something!"  
  
Catherine was dashing down the corridor towards him, clutching a small piece of paper to her chest. Grissom didn't even have time to contemplate the very un-Catherine like behaviour before she stopped right in front of him, panting slightly.  
  
"We have a match," she said slightly breathlessly, "a credit card purchase for a part of the timing device. Small, but we've nailed cases on less than this."  
  
Grissom looked into Catherine's eyes and saw, over and over, Greg, screaming, tied to a chair. He felt anger bubble up and quickly suppressed it. Filling it's place came a sudden wave of exultation.  
  
"Who?"  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 8:19 a.m.  
  
Grissom quietly excused himself from the small room. He could stand the quiet beeping of Greg's life ticking away, he could stand his own guilt smothering him like a blanket, he could. He was used to that, to death, the dying. But there was one thing that he could not stand, to the point that he didn't even want to admit it to himself.  
  
Perhaps it was his fear that had prevented him from accepting Sara's offer, even if he only admitted that to himself. Perhaps it was his fear that forced him into a self-created seclusion.  
  
Perhaps it was his fear that kept him from calling about Sara; it was easier to just stay away. To not be connected.  
  
As he slowly walked down the corridor, intent on the coffee machine at the end of the tunnel, he felt his mind examine his fear, as minds are wont to do. He shied away from it, for hope was the most fearful thing of all.  
  
-------------  
  
Friday – 1:13 p.m.  
  
"Open up, police!" Brass' cry rang out as the two uniforms battered down the door to the small townhouse. Dropping the ram, they pulled their guns and rushed forward to clear the house.  
  
Hanging back slightly, Sara and Grissom pulled out their guns. Catherine looked like she was ready to bolt inside, regardless of any masked Lunatics lurking in the shadows.  
  
After a few moments, Brass stepped outside, shaking his head and frowning. "Dammit!" He punched the door and strode off to the patrol car, pulling out his radio and updating dispatch of the events.  
  
Grissom and Sara traded looks as they holstered their guns and picked up their kits, hoping to find something of use in their case.  
  
Three hours later, they had enough evidence to match any more samples brought in, and enough to try and match what they already had.  
  
"Let's go." Grissom's quiet words in Catherine's ear went unheeded.  
  
"I've got something." Catherine bent down and pulled a small hair from the rug in the bathroom.  
  
"Cath, I know this is difficult-"  
  
"You know squat." Catherine's voice turned harsh. "That Lunatic has my daughter, and one of my friends. He's hurt those people around me that I care about, and even though he seems to be trying to be nice to my child, he's still a murdering nut. So you'll excuse me if I'm trying to be thorough."  
  
She glared up at his impassive eyes, knowing that they had done all they could here, and not caring in the least. She turned back to the carpet.  
  
"I'll have you removed from the case."  
  
"Oh, really," her voice was sarcastic, "what, you going to cite personal involvement? We're all involved Gil, and it's incredibly lucky we are that the Powers That Be haven't taken the case away from us yet. So don't go all moral on me. It's my daughter's life on the line, and I'm going to do everything in my power to get the bastard that took her from me."  
  
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and sagged. "Sorry." She mumbled, suddenly ashamed of her outburst. "Stressed a little, y'know?"  
  
Gil knelt down beside her, feeling out of his depth once more. "We will get him. Lindsey will be okay, Greg will be okay, Warrick will be okay, Nick is okay."  
  
"Yeah, I know." She sighed and dropped the hair. "Let's go and get some justice."  
  
She smiled at him, and accepted his hand as she got to her feet.  
  
-------------  
  
Friday – 6:46 p.m.  
  
"We got him, Gil." Brass stood just inside the layout room where Grissom was poring over the various bills and letter and other evidence for the umpteenth time. His heart leapt at the pronouncement, but wisdom tempered it as he took in Brass' less than enthusiastic face.  
  
"What did he do?" Grissom's voce was steady and calm, unlike his pulse.  
  
"He made a mistake. The one we were waiting for. He did go after another team member, Sara this time." Brass paused and stepped over to the table, opposite Grissom.  
  
"And?" Grissom prompted.  
  
Brass' eyes flashed once then looked regretful. "We got him, but not before he got Sara. She's not dead," Brass quickly cut off the shock that spread through Grissom's body, putting it on hold, "he didn't deliver a fatal blow, but he did get her. His knife hit her spine, they think, and they had to move her immediately to the closest hospital that could deal with her kind of injury. There was some internal damage that no hospital in the area is equipped to handle, apparently. She was airlifted about forty-five minutes ago to a hospital in Chicago."  
  
Brass waited while Grissom processed the new information. He prepared to answer any questions about Sara's condition that he could, and any secondary questions about Doyle.  
  
His preparation was in the wrong areas though.  
  
"What about Greg and Lindsey? Do we know where they are yet?"  
  
Brass shook his head. "They should be starting the interview any minute now. Doyle so far has said he will only talk to you."  
  
Grissom nodded once and sat for a moment more. "I want to sit in." He stood up and headed for the door, Brass following.  
  
Sighing, Brass watched Grissom stride down the hall, knowing that he had expected such a decision, and he quickly caught up with the scientist, offering to drive, taking Grissom's silence as consent.  
  
-------------  
  
Friday – 7:32 p.m.  
  
"Where are they. It's been hours since you were last there, and I'm betting you have them locked up. If they starve, you'll have that many more deaths on your head. Maybe if you co-operate, we can cut you a deal."  
  
The homicide detective was having no luck. Doyle refused to speak, except to say he would only talk to Gil Grissom.  
  
From the steady gaze on the mirror, Grissom knew that Doyle knew he was there, knew that he was watching, waiting. And Grissom also knew that he couldn't wait for however long it would take his team to track down where the missing pair were, he needed to find them now, to know they were all right.  
  
He did have emotions, and right now, they were screaming at him to do something.  
  
"I'll talk to him." Grissom's eyes never left Doyle's as he spoke to the Sheriff and Brass.  
  
"You aren't going in there alone." The Sheriff's voice was firm, and Grissom glanced at him. "You're taking Brass."  
  
"His aim isn't to hurt me, not physically."  
  
"I don't care. He's deranged. You are taking Brass or you aren't going at all."  
  
Grissom knew he wasn't going to win, but he also felt that Doyle wouldn't say anything if they weren't alone. Looking at the Sheriff's face, he sighed inwardly. A stiff nod was the only answer that Atwater got before Grissom left the room, Brass following.  
  
-------------  
  
"So, now you have me here. Are you going to talk?"  
  
Grissom sat across from James Doyle, Brass standing behind him in the shadows. Doyle glanced at Brass once before turning his full attention to Grissom.  
  
"Do you remember my case? The investigation that ruined my life."  
  
"I do." Grissom steady gaze never left Doyle's face. "Your boss was murdered. Then your supervisor."  
  
Doyle nodded. "And you geniuses thought I did it. You pulled me in, arrested me, sent me to jail for two years, cost me my job, my marriage, my friends."  
  
"They couldn't have been very good friends if they deserted you like that." Brass sounded sarcastic, completely pitiless.  
  
Doyle glared briefly at Brass. "When you lot finally found some 'exonerating' evidence, finally declared the case unsolved, no one would believe I didn't do it. You scared away my wife, she divorced me, and she won full custody of our kids, my kids. I don't get to see them anymore. She moved away, across the country. I had to leave the area, everyone acted like I was a killer, I tried to follow her but she got a restraining order against me. And with that on my record, no respectable place would hire me. My life went down the drain, all because of you, Gil Grissom. I'm innocent, and you put me away for that."  
  
Hate shone through the fury in Doyle's eyes, but Grissom didn't care in the least. Maybe, in another time and place, he would feel guilt over this man's life being ruined over a mistake, one he had made, but not after what this scum had done to his friends and family.  
  
"You claim to be innocent. And yet you have taken two lives, and injured many more. Innocent people, who you had no quarrel with. So I don't give a damn if you were innocent or not. I don't give a damn if you think you're a justice seeker. What you did was far worse than anything I ever did to you."  
  
Grissom stood up, his own anger now showing. "One of my lab-techs died fifteen minutes ago, and she didn't even know why you attacked her. There is a woman in hospital right now, and she may not live, and even if she does live, she will probably never walk again. You murdered a completely innocent person, a receptionist, for no reason other then your own self- involved bitterness. One of my team is in hospital, doped to the eyebrows because of your bomb. And you are holding a member of my team and an innocent little girl. So no, you aren't innocent. You are scum, a dangerous lunatic, and I don't care why anymore. You don't concern me. My friends concern me."  
  
He leaned close to Doyle, his nose inches from the other man's face. Grissom's voice, when he spoke next, was low and deadly.  
  
"Tell me where they are."  
  
-------------  
  
Monday – 10:57 a.m.  
  
Catherine slipped quietly into Greg's room. She had seen Lindsey briefly, reassured her and told her again how much she loved her. When the doctor had shooed Catherine away quietly, she had debated going home for some rest and quickly decided against it.  
  
Instead, she headed up to see how Greg was doing, feeling that familiar pang of guilt.  
  
Gil sat in the same chair he'd been in when she'd left, and Nick had returned.  
  
"How's Warrick?" Catherine's voice, just above a whisper, seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.  
  
"He's doing alright. I told him about Jacqui. And everything. He didn't remember your visit. He's resting now."  
  
Catherine nodded and moved to sit in a chair next to Nick. A nurse had probably brought it in seeing how many people were in there.  
  
Silence filled the space, and a tension started to build as the beeping slowed slightly. Catherine felt her heart jump every time the next tone sounded, waiting for it to continue.  
  
Or stop.  
  
Nick thought he's suffocate, the lump in his throat had grown so large.  
  
Grissom felt like he'd eaten some rocks, or perhaps some heavy butterflies.  
  
Susan and David simply waited, silent and still. Blank.  
  
Beep... beep... beep.... beep.... beep.........  
  
The End  
  
-------------  
  
A/N: Well, it's over. I hope you liked it, I liked writing it. I'm not sure this part was as good as the first, but I did my best. It is unbeta'd, so again, all mistakes are my own. Please R&R, it doesn't take long, and it really does make me feel that this is a worthwhile pastime.  
  
I hope I explained everything well enough, and just in case anyone was wondering, the receptionist is Sammy, I don't think I referred to her by name anywhere except with Warrick, so I hope you can forgive me that. 


End file.
